


Tock, Tock

by Deyinel



Category: Corpse Bride (2005)
Genre: Angst, Depression, F/M, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:33:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25005481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deyinel/pseuds/Deyinel
Summary: Victor made the wrong choice. A VictorXEmily oneshot. Very dark and sad, but I enjoyed writing it. Please R&R.
Relationships: Victor Van Dort/Emily, Victor Van Dort/Victoria Everglot
Comments: 6
Kudos: 35





	Tock, Tock

Tock, Tock  
Disclaimer: I write to ease the pain. And satisfy my muse. I do not own Corpse Bride. If I did, this fan fiction would not be necessary.  
Thank you all!  
This is another V/E fic for all my fellow fans. Enjoy!

Tock, tock, I hear the clock,  
Ticking through my tears,  
Ticking through the years  
Of my life.

A life alone,  
Though all around me people groan,  
And twist and sway,  
And toil away,  
The years they have together side by side.

The rude hordes push and shove,  
As they live their selfish, heartless lives  
Embroiled within their troubles,  
Amid the filth and rubble  
Of the hopes and dreams of others.

I know what life is worth  
I cannot live like this,  
And yet I must,  
The hate and lust,  
Surround and suffocate my mind.

Tock, tock, I hear the clock,  
Ticking as I sigh,  
The months go slowly by,  
I’ll see you once again.

And here I stand,  
And in my hand  
I hold you captured with my pen.  
Just as you were,  
You will not change, as I grow old and fade away.

That quirky smile upon your lips,   
That I will never see again  
Is far more real,  
Than coal and steel,  
Which hems me in like cold, dark bars.

And in the end, when death is nigh,  
My toil will end for good.  
I’ll look for you,  
Believe it’s true,  
But will you still love me then?

Tock, tock, I hear the clock,  
Ticking as each day  
Seeps by and slips away.  
I drag myself along.

Each morning when I wake  
I see her lying next to me.  
Her love is pure,  
I don’t love her,  
Yet she holds me here, away from you.

I promised I would stay  
And would not follow you.  
So from the start,  
With heavy heart,  
This chain of love around my neck.

As much as I love you,  
She needs me here,  
And so I stay,  
Day after day,  
No light lives in this life of mine.

Tock, tock, I hear the clock.  
The seconds pass,  
‘Till death at last  
Can free me from my bonds.

Victor lay down his pen as though it were suddenly too heavy for him, and sat silently for a moment, looking down at the poem into which he had spent the last half hour pouring his soul. This was probably his best yet, mournful, soulful, with a rhythm in it which moved him deeply, although no emotion showed on his thin face. He had poured it all out through his hand, into the poem.  
Slowly now he got to his feet, and stood listening. He could hear a carriage out in the street. Was it his wife returning? Perhaps.  
He walked over to the fireplace, where a tiny, orange beast was burning near the center, rubbing itself over the logs as though it were trying to warm its cold hands. Victor stood for a moment, then, after pressing his latest poem reverently to his chest for a moment, dropped it onto the pitiful fire.   
For a moment it seemed that it would not be burned, that the small flames would take pity on someone as desperate as themselves, and just as trapped. But then one finger of yellow bloomed on the ink-stained corner, and the next second the starving flames had engulfed the paper, growing in their joy, and crackling like fighting tom cats. When they at last subsided, all that remained was a skeleton of black ash, which crumbled as Victor watched.  
The sound of the door knocker pounding rudely against wood roused Victor where he stood bemused by the sated fireplace, and he bestirred himself. Schooling his face into a welcoming smile, the broken young man turned and left his study to greet Victoria. His wife mustn’t suspect a thing.  
Behind him in the empty room, the clock on the wall continued ticking relentlessly on.   
Tock, tock, tock.

This is one of my first attempts at poetry, so please be gentle. I may fix up the poem part of this fic later on, but I hope it’s good so far. Please tell me what you think.


End file.
